


yves saint laurent.

by rosacesuga



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, Modeling, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosacesuga/pseuds/rosacesuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"close your eyes and imagine, Vegas on acid, seen through Yves Saint Laurent glasses."</p><p>or in which troye sivan is the famous model for the brand yves saint laurent and connor franta is his sweet boyfriend who takes pictures of everything he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yves saint laurent.

**Author's Note:**

> Greeting, salutations and such!  
> I hope you enjoy this little work I made at three in the morning when I was supposed to be sleeping.  
> It's my first proper one - shot that has over 1k words and I'm kind of proud of it.  
> I hope you enjoy it and I apologize in advance for any mistakes, english isn't my native language.

There was always something about fashion that fascinated him. Maybe it was the fact that just from a simple piece of fabric you could create something incredible, original. Or it was because you could express yourself in your own way.  
Ever since he was younger, he always wore what he wanted, even when it was not pursuant to community standards. He often locked himself in his own room and with old sewing machine he made horrible pieces of clothing that he wore another day with pride and smile on his face.  
He always tried to keep up with the fashion trends and he spent all of his money on fashion magazines. He saw every documentary about famous fashion designers; he bought every book that was just a slightest bit about fashion.  
He was known for his passion and he always got so happy when someone asked him about what they should wear or which kind of dress would suit them the best.  
And one day, his mother told him to sit down and said, “Troye, why don’t you try modelling?”   
And that was the day that his life was changed.  
Now he was twenty. He was known for his pale, almost porcelain skin, piercing blue eyes that held so much more than just colour and the effect he gave off when he was walking fashion shows.  
He was easy to be remembered. All it took was one look for you and you knew you’re going to remember him for a long time.   
People either loved Troye or they couldn’t say his name without wanting to rip his hair out of his scalp. He felt like he was in high school again, surrounded by people who wanted to be desperately just like him, the ones who admired him because of nothing or the ones who wanted to see him six feet underground, with his insides smashed into tiny little pieces.  
Yes, he usually came off as selfish, impatient and constantly busy person who thinks the whole world is his, but that’s the outside. That’s the expensive clothing he wears basically every day that are the rumours that are spread about him with velocity of light.  
But he was just another face in the crowd, he got scared, he got insecure and he got sad. He was a human after all, not just a face on the front pages of every fashion magazine you could probably think of. At the end of the day, he was a person, made from flesh and bones that sometimes wished his life was normal.

Then there is another person whose persona is quite interesting. Connor Franta was known for his odd passion for coffee and house plants, with his face always hidden behind his beloved camera that he took with him everywhere he went.  
He was very young, probably three or four, when he started getting interested in cameras. His dad would always take pictures of him or his family in the most unusual moments and he was always so amazed by it. When they bought their first camera ever, the heavy black box that was always placed on his dad’s shoulder whenever something excited in their small town happened, he was the one who stood in front of it, blabbing nonsense. Then, when he was twelve, he was invited to his cousin’s wedding as a photographer and that’s where his passion was fully born.  
He liked to think he was born for this, that he was born to capture every single detail of the simple simplest things in life. Like the structure of pavement he was walking on. He was captivated about everything he believed that every single moment was special in their own way. Sometimes, he would take spontaneous walk down the street, looking around and taking in the little things that surrounded him. He was wondering how old could possibly be the kids that are swinging high on the swing set, yelling incoherent words. He wondered how long will last the happiness and joy in the eyes of three years old girl, holding tightly her mommy’s hands. 

He smiled at the old lady passing him by, clutching the leash with her small pug at the end of it in her wrinkly and scarred hand.   
He threw small coins in the aged used-to-be-black hat of homeless man who was desperately trying to scrounge for some money so he could eat a little.   
He was twenty two years old but he felt like his soul was way older than his body. He did adult things every week: he cleaned up his whole house, he went grocery shopping, and he needed to make money so he could pay bills. Even though this wasn’t how he imagined his early twenties to be, he didn’t regret a single thing.  
He got a job of his dreams: he was a photographer for semi-famous magazine called Acid. Yeah, the name is oddly strange but the magazine is great, at least that’s what Connor thought. Sometimes, they did interviews with celebrities and unlike other magazines, they actually published things that were true, they didn’t take things out of context and they didn’t make the famous people look like complete assholes.  
After all, he was happy.

***** 

“It’s really okay, I can carry it by myself,” Connor’s soft pink lips turned into small smile, the reassuring one, the one that said “I’m good, it’s okay,” without actually saying it.  
He never really liked when other people helped him with the easiest things such as carrying a paper box full of different types of lenses.  
He was learning to be independent most of his life so now, when he finally learned how to properly be, he’s not going to let anyone blemish this just because it’s their work.  
His studio, or as he liked to call it ‘atelier’ because it didn’t sounded as firmly, was at the basement of building where also the CEO of the publishing company dwelt.  
Imagine plain, square room with its walls painted white, full of stuff you will probably never use, small leather couch and just one big mess of wires all over the floor. You get the visual representation where Connor had to spend most of his days.  
That day, Connor was content. His body screamed tired but his mind was free, happy, and carefree. His movements were slow, weary and monotonous. But his face was happy; his green eyes with flicks of hazel around pupils were bursting with joy and pure happiness. His lips were always turned upwards, never failing to make you feel giddy and nice. It was nothing new, that Connor’s smile was heart-warming. It was. His grandma used to tell me, before she passed away sadly, that he should never stop smiling because his smile could melt even the coldest piece of ice you could ever find.  
The thought of his grandma made him smile.

***

There was calm and slow music quietly playing in the background, he just finished his last photoshoot for that day. He was feeling satisfied with himself, he knew he did a good job. He always did his best; he always tried to please everyone and himself. That was the one thing he always thought while he was doing his job; until you are not pleased with what you’ve done, don’t expect that the others will be.  
He was just stacking camera lenses in their usual boxes, piles of papers randomly placed all around the room, waiting to be cleaned, when a quiet knock echoed the almost empty room. There was no furniture, when you don’t count black leather sofa, two chest of drawers and lamp in the corner of the room which made the room look cozy and comfortable with its yellowish light.  
“It’s open,” Connor called softly, he was wondering who it was. It was nearly 10pm, a dim moonlight illuminated certain parts of studio through the big French windows.  
“Connor Franta,” a voice, so familiar to Connor, called making the green-eyed boy turn around, his mouth opened in surprise. There he was, looking beautiful as ever, in his light blue jeans, grey Adidas hoodie and white hat. 

Connor’s heart sped up, his breathing uneven because he was expecting everyone and everything, but not him. It was few months since they’ve seen each other, having to deal with late night Skype calls since Troye was always away, displaying his beautiful face to the world.  
“What are you doing here?” he breathed out with small surprised smile on his lips, his inner butterflies going crazy just by looking at this boy.  
“Do you want me to leave?” Troye asked playfully, the little ring in his nose gleaming with silver moonlight as he took few steps closer to Connor. He was holding a cup of steaming coffee – he will forever remember that Connor likes to drink different types of coffee at different parts of day – that was burning his hand and he almost drop it before setting it down on the small table.  
“No, no, absolutely not, I’m just surprised,” Connor laughed breathlessly; there was a little smile that told everything he couldn’t. He was still standing in the same spot, unable to move because he just couldn’t believe it. Troye was there, few inches away, after almost three months.  
“Are you glad I’m here?” Troye asked quietly, taking his hat off, ruffling his curls that were permanently falling into his eyes.   
“Of course I am, you goofus,” Connor laughed again, launching himself forward and embracing Troye in tight hug. He wrapped his arms around his torso, placing his chin on his shoulder and closing his eyes. He felt the warmth radiating from Troye’s body that made every inch of his skin tingle with indescribable feeling. He fisted his thick hoodie in his hands, trying to press Troye’s body as close as possible.

He felt the hot breath of Troye on his neck, he felt his steady heartbeat on his chest and he tried so hard not to smile even more than he was. Troye made him happy, he wasn’t afraid to admit that. He wasn’t afraid to say it outloud, he wasn’t afraid to shout it from the rooftops. He wasn’t afraid of falling in love with Troye more and more with every day passing by, not anymore. Because Troye was always standing there, ready to catch him.  
“I missed you dear,” Troye whispered and only those for words made Connor’s heart flutter. He missed him too, he missed him dearly. He missed every inch of Troye’s skin and he missed his arms around his waist, he missed his body spooning him every morning they would wake up. He missed his quiet shower performances and he missed their middles of nights when they would put random song on and just dance around the kitchen, the only light coming from the refrigerator. He even missed their fights when they would scream lies at each other, throwing plates on the wall, and he missed the raw emotions Troye made him feel.  
“I missed you too,” Connor replied softness and truth in his voice. His voice was barely above whisper, he didn’t want to ruin the mood they were in. It was just them, the moon and smell of coffee that was still standing on table, untouched.  
Troye’s lips turned into cute smile that made Connor’s heart ache, shake and break because he couldn’t believe Troye’s beauty was real.  
His fingers touched Connor’s face tenderly; thumb brushing over his cheek that was permanently red. He cupped his face in his hand, feeling Connor softly lean in his touch and he moved him thumb to brush under his eyes. He dipped his head lower, slowly closing the small gape between their lips. Troye moved his lips softly, slowly turning this simple touch in tender and fond kiss. Connor couldn’t help but smile, making it hard to kiss anymore, his wide smile making his face looking happiest than ever.  
“I brought you coffee by the way,” Troye admitted bashfully and pointed to the large red cup from Costa. He knew Connor hated Starbucks; he always said that the prizes were too much for how shitty the coffee was. Troye didn’t understand that, he thought that Starbucks made pretty good coffee but who he is to talk, he isn’t coffee enthusiast. Connor was.  
Connor just smiled, before taking the cup. Oh boy, was he in some deep love.

***

“By the way, how was Paris?” Connor asked, they were just hanging around his studio, nothing to do. Troye just helped him to completely clean the whole room, so now it looked brand new.   
Troye shrugged his shoulders, “It sucked, being in the city of love without the one you love,” Connor giggled, Troye’s cheesiness never surprised him. It was the way Troye was, he was cheesy and all over the place and bubbly. He was wiser beyond his age, he was two years younger than Connor but he was one of the most intelligent people he knew. His mind was free and open, he was never afraid to say what he thought out loud, he was never afraid to admit his mistakes and wrongs. 

“But in all seriousness, it was boring. I mean, yeah I was in Paris, one of the most beautiful cities but it was just… plain, it was fashion shows and nothing else, I had like one day off so I experienced it for a while, but still,” Troye sighed quietly, even though he loved the job he had and he loved how much he got to travel, sometimes it was too much.   
Sometimes, he wished he had normal life, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, somewhere only him and Connor would knew.   
“Have you ever thought about, I don’t know, quitting?” Connor looked at him from the other side of room where he was hanging some photos on his ‘wall of fame’. It was mostly one of his best pictures he’s ever taken and was most proud of.   
“Babe, you know I can’t. Not right now,” Troye told him with sympathy in his eyes, he knew how much Connor worried about him. And even thought it sounded selfish, Troye worried about himself too. He heard so many terrifying stories from ex-models that scared the living shit out of him. He didn’t want to end up like them, he was only twenty one and still, so much pressure was put on him. 

Connor let out heavy sigh; he wished he could help Troye. It didn’t matter how, just somehow. Somehow take the pressure off of his shoulders and let him breathe for a while. He constantly reassured himself and Troye that everything is going to be okay. That they would settle down soon, maybe buy themselves a little house and dog. But Troye was becoming more and more asked for and it was hard to say no. Because when you’re living your dreams, it’s hard to quit.  
The green eyed boy bit his lip, leaning his back on the white wall, closing his eyes. He was tired, so so tired and he didn’t know why. He loved his job, it became part of him so easily. He understood why Troye couldn’t let go.  
“C’mon babe, don’t think about it, okay? We’ll be fine,” Troye was suddenly in front of him, his fingers digging into Connor’s shoulders, massaging the stiffen muscles. He almost felt the heavy burden on his shoulders and he so desperately wanted to take it off.  
So he tried. He tried to get his mind off of unimportant things by kissing him. Their lips collided harshly, teeth chattering. Troye’s hands gripped Connor’s hips firmly, LANY’s song playing on the background making their moment even more intimate. This was their artist, it was them who fell in love while listening to Walk Away.  
“Concentrate on me, Con, okay? It’s only me and you, nothing else,” Troye whispered in his ear, voice deep and slow, his lips ghosting over his ear every time he spoke. Connor nodded, letting Troye to kiss him again, this time more slowly and passionately, their lips melting together. He put his hands on Troye’s shoulders, letting go of everything that bothered him. It was only Troye, him and the moon.  
And that’s how it’s going to stay.


End file.
